Eric asked, "You knew I'd come after you?" "Yes. The Legend said you'd be back." Eric stopped and whirled to face his brother. "The Legend? Eric the Bronze? What is this wild fantasy?" "Not so loud!" Garve's voice cautioned him. "Of course the crowd called you that because of the copper hat and your heavy tan. But the Elders believe so too. I don't know what it is, Eric, reincarnation, prophesy, superstition, I only know that when I was with the Elders I believed them. You are a part of a Legend. You are Eric the Bronze." Eric looked down at his sun tanned hands and flexed them. He loosened the explosive pistol in its holster. At least he was going to be a well armed, well prepared Legend. And while one part of his mind marveled at the city and relaxed into a pleasure as deep as a dream, another struggled with the almost forgotten desire to rescue his brother and escape. He asked, "Who are the Elders?" "We are going to them, to the center of the city." Garve's voice sharpened, "Keep your head down. I think the last two men we passed are looking after us. Don't look back." After a moment Garve said, "I think they are following us. Get ready to run. If we are separated, keep going until you reach City Center. The Elders will be expecting you." Garve glanced back, and his voice sharpened, "Now! Run!" They ran. But as they ran figures began to converge upon them. Farther up the street others appeared, cutting off their flight. Garve cried, "In here," and pulled Eric into a crevice between two buildings. Eric drew his gun, and savagery began to dance in his eyes. The soft fur muffled sounds of pursuit closed in upon them. Garve put one hand on Eric's gun hand and said, "Wait here. And if you value my life, don't use that gun." Then he was gone, running deerlike down the street. For an instant Eric thought the ruse had succeeded. He heard cries and two men passed him running in pursuit. But then the cry came back. "Let him go. Get the other one. The other one." Eric was seen an instant later, and the people of the city began to converge upon him. He could have destroyed them all with his charges in the gun, but his brother's warning shrieked in his ears, "If you value my life don't use the gun." There was nothing he could do. Eric stood quietly until he was taken prisoner. They moved him to the center of the wide fur street. Two men held his arms, and twisted painfully. The crowd looked at him, coldly, calculatingly. One of them said, "Get the whips. If we whip him he will not come back." The city twinkled, and the music was so faint he could hardly hear it. There was only one weapon Eric could use. He had gathered from Garve's words that these people were superstitious. He laughed, a great chest-shattering laugh that gusted out into the thin Martian air. He laughed and cried in a great voice, "And can you so easily dispose of a Legend? If I am Eric of the Legend, can whips defeat the prophesy?"